


Barefoot

by riverbed



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, BDSM Lite, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Handcuffing, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, a glaring footjob opportunity left unfilled, blatant disregard for the work of policing, repurposing of police equipment, talk of frilly underthings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbed/pseuds/riverbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson tucks in for another lonely night on the couch at Reid's, and gets something else entirely, in the form of the slumber party he didn't know he'd been missing.</p><p>Set post-season 2, lots of spoilers for such. Sorry if I missed any tags that may be relevant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barefoot

“I want none of any man.”

Jackson supposed he understood it. Men had disappointed her, continually, after all – first her father, then Silas Duggan, and now – blast it - him.

The bathwater grew lukewarm, no longer satisfying. He could feel it chilling him a bit. He splashed some across his face and shook it off, catching his own glance in the full-length mirror across Reid's powder room. Jackson observed that he was looking pretty haggard, right brow drooping over his eye and beard more patchy than else. The excess drink probably wasn't doing him much good.

But what else was there? Since Susan had thrown him out, what was there to do? Throw himself into his work, surely – and he had done so, even putting on a rather impressive front for Reid, who had so graciously opened his home to him. The little house had only two bedrooms and Jackson had not asked about the second one – for he knew it remained the daughter's, untouched, a shrine – but he was immensely grateful for the soft sofa and warm fireplace that had been offered to him. And the house was cozy, still so full of life and personable even after Emily had left. Distinctively Reid – Jackson scoffed to himself. He knew without Long Susan he would have not a hope of arranging elegant décor.

Reid was usually so good at figuring him out. It surprised Jackson that he had not pried as to the situation, or mentioned it – whether it was his damned English manners or true ignorance, Jackson did not know, but that was just another thing on the list of discretions on Reid's part he was thankful for. He was not without guilt for consuming Reid's home time as well as that of his work – he knew he was not a particularly good roommate. He felt hugely obliged, rather like he was imposing, overstaying his welcome. Reid never made him feel as such, of course – it was something he had felt for years, regardless of where he happened to be – Richmond, Susan's house (for it was her house, after all – all she had made there was hers and hers alone), the stationhouse, England in general. In Reid's quaint home, however, all was compounded, sure and sharp, constantly at the forefront of his mind. His anxiety, usually tightly-wound, was starting to unravel, and he could feel that he would not be able to stave it off for long. All would surface.

The worst was his fear of what had been brewing within himself whilst living with Reid. The insight he had caught of his temporary housemate's day-to-day routines had planted a kind of affection in his gut for the Inspector, a sort of feeling he had not felt since – well, since he had first met Susan all those years ago.  


He held his breath and ducked under the cool bathwater. Soap burned his eyes. He wished he were not so starved for attention – his only slightly dwindling libido aside, he did miss the softness of skin against his, even the neck massages Susan would lavish him with in happier times, after long days chasing leads on the Whitechapel beat. There were many things, he had realised over the past few weeks, that he would have done differently – not taken her business for granted, effectively stealing from her, was chief on that list. His appreciation for Susan was never paralleled by the girls she employed, but he knew she should not be expected to understand that. A man should be enraptured by only the one to whom he has promised his heart, but, he supposed, his promises never did mean much.

He grasped either side of the bathtub and heaved himself out, water dripping from him as his feet slapped the few steps along the tile to the towel rack on the wall. He studied himself further in the mirror. Scars, raised and white, on his tanned torso, remnants from a fight he put up during a mugging a few months ago. The mugger had won nonetheless, his scrapiness no match for brute strength. 

Soft-focusing, he worked to unfurrow his brow, kneading out the tightness with both fists. The headache remained, but was now slowly releasing its grip on his tired brain; encouraged by this, he worked the skin of his forehead harder, pressing the index knuckles hard into his temples. Satisfied that he could now truly rest, and stretching his neck, he used the thin towel – much more utilitarian than the oversized, fluffy ones he was used to at Tenter street (most decidedly a man's purchase) – to dry himself and, pulling on his drawers, padded himself through the halls that led to what was temporarily his sofa.

In the living-room he found a fire roaring on the hearth, a glass half-full of dark whisky on the table and, in his armchair, a novel in hand, Reid.

“Ah! Captain!” Reid seemed embarrassed, as if he'd been caught doing anything other than reading in front of his own fireplace. He scurried to clear his belongings from the sofa, the strewn objects from his satchel thrown unceremoniously back in.

“Forgive me, Jackson. I went out for a bit and -” 

“You don't have to explain yourself to me, Reid. Obviously you can come and go as you please.” They considered each other for a moment, and the Inspector seemed to shake himself slightly to regain his train of thought. “Care to join me?” He tipped his glass to Jackson, the whisky sloshing.

“I'm... not in the mood.” Reid raised an eyebrow, but took another sip.

“I was hoping we might... talk,” he said finally, looking not at Jackson but down into the crystal.

“Reid, no offense, but I really am not in the mood.”

“Sit,” Reid said, and then, seeing the look of indignation on Jackson's face at his harshness, “please. I do wish to speak with you.”

He sounded almost pathetic, so the surgeon did as he was told, lounging sideways on the settee. He studied Reid in the chair across from him – he looked tired. To the soul, tired, exhaustion that consumed one from the inside out. Jackson knew the feeling all too well. The Inspector thought he was the only one who could read people – he would be surprised, in the least, to learn that he was perhaps surpassed in such skill by his left-hand man.

Reid cleared his throat. “Captain, I...” He swirled his glass. “I was hoping we might discuss what you make of this arrangement.”

Jackson's throat seized up. Suddenly he felt short of breath, panicked, his tendency to think the worst rushing like floodwaves through his mind. He was about to be kicked out, he assumed. He was immediately planning his next options – Drake, perhaps; though the Sergeant was gruff, and they weren't on perfect terms, he was back, after all, and it had always been obvious he was kindhearted to a fault. 

Reid stopped his planning when he crossed the foyer to join him on the sofa. With Jackson's feet stretched across it, this left Reid little room, which he settled into seemingly without noticing. He offered the glass to Jackson, and, although he had refused before, this time he took it, throwing back the remaining three quarters of a dose in one go.

“Do not assume I'm throwing you out.” It was like Reid was a goddamn mind reader. Maybe he was a witch, like Drake had christened that psychic he distrusted. His eyes darted up to the doctor. They were so bright; Jesus, every time they pierced into Jackson like that he felt his breath catch. 

Definitely a witch.

“What arrangement is it we have, Reid?” His voice fell from him a bit rougher than he'd intended.

“I am not entirely certain, but, I think...” Reid sighed as he leaned far enough over to take the empty highball from Jackson, whose body was still perpendicular to his. In turning to face him, he brought his feet onto the sofa to join his surgeon's, crossing his legs like a child. It was only then that Jackson noticed that Reid was barefoot, and his breath hitched again at such a simple thing. How intimate it was to be having secret late-night talks in pajamas with a person he considered a friend, a true friend – one who had, as yet, remained so loyal and steadfast in his devotion.

Affection seeded within him, indeed.

“I think our arrangement is one of loneliness.” Reid continued, placing a bold hand on Jackson's cotton-clad calf, cupping the spot above his ankle. He stared at it. “I think we could both do something about it, make use of the circumstances.” Jackson arched an eyebrow at him, attempted to pull off one of his signature smirks. “I must confess I have discovered some... fondness for you as of late.”

Jackson couldn't believe this was real. His head spun violently, and suddenly he felt as if he would be sick. This was all too much. He removed his legs from their position and leaned forward off the sofa, putting his head between his knees.

Ever the self-involved one, Reid immediately began damage control. “I am so sorry, Jackson, I've misread you entirely. I convinced myself in my hubris that you harbored the same feelings I did toward you. I am so, so so very sorry. Please don't take -”

“Would you just shut up for a minute, Reid?” the American man snapped. “This isn't about you. I mean, of course, I feel the same. I just... need a minute.” The noise was replaced by a hand in his hair, anchoring his head and massaging his scalp as Jackson breathed through the wave of nausea. It wasn't exactly how he had envisioned confessing his admiration for his friend – but, then again, he hadn't really allowed himself the fantasy at all.

When he felt certain the sickness had passed, Jackson sat upright, staring at Reid. “Sorry to spring that on you in such a setting,” the Inspector said sheepishly. He ran a hand through his own hair now, a nervous habit of his.

Jackson smiled, the first genuine one he could remember offering in months. He gestured to the little foyer, the dwindling fire. “None better.” 

Reid seemed to like this. “I'll fetch you some brandy. It'll help.” He tilted his head, anticipating Jackson's protest before it happened. “For God's sake, Jackson, let someone help you for once.”

Jackson kept mum, nodded. He used the time Reid was up with the chore to gather his thoughts, replaying all that had happened in such a short period of time – no more than 10 minutes ago, he swore, he had walked into the room to find Reid by the fire. It was strange how such time could be so significant – most of the major things that happened in his life, he realised, had happened in such short moments. Vignettes. He filed this one away, nausea and all. He wanted to remember this.

Reid returned to him, little brown bottle in hand. He filled two snifters and handed one to Jackson, retaking his seat beside him on the sofa. He raised his glass and toasted silently to the captain, hitting his glass upon the other's, and relaxed backward, bringing his knees up to his chest as if he were trying to keep warm.

Jackson let the warm odor of the Cognac overtake his senses before sipping, drifting slightly in the euphoric sweetness of the wine.

“You know my weakness, Reid, You smug bastard,” he teased. Reid blushed. He knew indeed that Jackson otherwise preferred bitter drink, but had a particular affinity to the French specialty.

“What's the angle, then? Hoping to loosen me up and get me all nice and pliable? Take me to bed?” The other man's cheeks flushed brighter. Jackson moved toward him, and Reid instinctively opened his legs, allowing Jackson to kneel between them. Leaning over the larger man with his right arm – Cognac in hand – outstretched over the back of the couch, he pressed his own cheek to Reid's scarlet one. “Here's fine,” he hissed, “and I'm perfectly pliable.” 

He climbed up and off the sofa, leaving Reid looking lost and still hotly flushed in the face, but before he could become too dejected, Jackson resettled himself on the floor in front of him. He tugged Reid to face him and placed his hands on his knees, walking his fingers up his thighs and toward the waistband of his long drawers. He tugged up Reid's undervest and ran his hands along the skin of the taller man's belly, somewhat in awe. He pulled away to take another swig of the thick wine before putting it back down on the coffee table behind them. He surprised himself in his boldness. All the pain and stress of the last few weeks tore him apart physically day-to-day – who would have thought he would find himself to be himself again in such a situation? Whatever worked, he supposed. He made the staunch decision – deriding himself as he did so – to just let this happen, since it certainly seemed as if the stars had aligned for it to do so. Not that he was one for the superstition of astrology.

He encouraged Reid's knees back open, scooting closer to his body. Now flush against the sofa's base, he pressed kisses at the area around the Inspector's belly button. Reid grunted softly, encouraging his labors, so he continued, eventually tonguing the shallow impressions where his day trousers' stiff waist had sat. He watched Reid reach up above him and remove his undershirt completely, admiring the way his triceps stretched with his movement. The inspector was a deceptively strong man – mostly soft in speech, but towering and certainly imposing. There was something intimidating and just-so exciting about working around that kind of energy, Jackson had always felt it – and now, underneath him, the threat of his boss' strength definitely intrigued him, to say the least. 

He laid a palm against the crotch of Reid's pajamas, rubbing in little circles, making sure to only ghost the fabric lightly against the bulge underneath it. Reid gasped and wriggled his hips a little, his legs spreading wider as he slouched down further on the sofa, struggling to catch more friction, but Jackson maintained control, removing his hand completely whenever Reid found a pace that worked for too long. In its stead, he drew his nails across Reid's chest or down his arms, balancing carefully any pleasure the young Inspector would experience with teasing pain. He tried to remember what he had done with the other boys at school, but it had been so long, and eventually he observed that his own playbook for pleasuring himself seemed to work wonders on his roommate. This sort of teasing let Reid build gradually, let the burn simmer a bit. It was something he enjoyed personally, and he was becoming increasingly gratified to watch it work so well on a partner.

Reid was an impatient man, though, and Jackson knew ladies in their sensitivities usually had no idea men might actually prefer a slower build-up to the main event, and eventually the Englishman was coated in a light sheen of sweat, bucking his hips into the Captain's hand and gripping his shoulder to keep him there, and Jackson had to admit the sight was too intoxicating to refuse. He reached across himself with his left hand and gripped the one Reid had in a vice on his shoulder. Reid looked him in the eye and seemed to stare him down as he thrust into the heel of his palm, rolling his hips frantically. Jackson found himself panting as he stared back, and suddenly he was acutely aware of his own erection, and suddenly it was aching him to touch – he pressed himself against the sofa to gain friction and licked his lips, and then – then, he remembered himself.

Dropping physical contact immediately, he backed off, leaving Reid looking absolutely pathetic, slumped against the back of his sofa, his sweat-shined torso glimmering a little in the dimming firelight.

“Fuck.” Reid admired him as he stood, finishing his Cognac in one go. He smiled meekly up at him. “I should have known you were a tease.”

“Yeah, ya should've.” Jackson stretched, leaning backward with his arms above his head. It was a totally whorelike decision to move his body in such a way in present company, but he was currently in the mood to revel in attention. He could feel Reid's eyes on him, scrutinizing him, and he loved it. He hadn't come in weeks, and felt up to the challenge of making this as good as it could get. He was energized, could feel the adrenaline running through him and electricity surging to every nerve ending, his skin hot to the touch. 

Oh yes, he was definitely in the mood to push it this evening.

“If you want more information, Detective Inspector,” he hissed, “feel free to interrogate me.” He looked sideways at Reid, who pursed his lips disapprovingly and rose from the couch to move toward him. Coming up behind Jackson, he pressed himself against his subordinate, running his hands up and down his lean, tanned stomach. 

“Hmmm... and why should I question you, Captain? Have you been up to no good?”

The scoff-worthiness of Reid's being the only living person in London besides Susan, now that her awful landlord was dead, to actually know the breadth of the bad things he'd done was not lost on Jackson, but he had far more urgent matters to attend to. He leaned back into Reid and, reaching an arm backward, took hold of the back of his head by the hair, arching further into his touch. His skin felt like it was ready to be lit aflame, heat transferring from him to Edmund's fingertips and back again in an exchange that set the tightness in his belly stirring.

Jackson discovered he was not the only one who could tease effectively. “Have you been... mm... perhaps you've been something of a slut, then, hmm?” Reid punctuated this by digging his fingernails into the softer flesh on his right side, just below where he'd been slashed by a pocketknife in that mugging. Jackson gasped, involuntarily tightening his grip on Edmund's hair. He hadn't even been touched, not really, and his erection was getting more and more insistent that it be paid attention to. He felt like everything Edmund was doing and saying went straight to his groin, could feel the gyration of the taller man's hips as they ghosted across his equally clothed backside.

“My pants are still on, for God's sake, Ed,” he insisted breathily.

“That is a problem isn't it?” His hands slid down Jackson's body on the sides to slip under the fabric of his drawers, gapping them from the skin at the elastic but not lowering them, not yet. He chuckled. “But, as I recall, you don't believe in God.”

“Well if I did, he's definitely given up on me by this point, Reid.” The fact that they were joking as friends would in any other situation warmed Jackson's heart in spite of himself, and he felt a pang of overpowering affection through all the lust in the room.

“True. And I as well, one would hazard to guess. Ah...” he trailed off. “C'est la vie.” Reid lowered his head to Jackson's neck, kneading the helpless skin there with his teeth as the American man's arms flailed, worrying what would no doubt be a prominent bruise into the flesh before soothing it with his tongue and then repeating the process only an inch or so away. Jackson was at a loss for words except for his new partner's name, mostly groaning and occasionally gasping in total indignation at the concept of this. It was the most aggressively he'd ever been kissed and it hurt like hell and he couldn't bring himself to even wish for it to ease even as he felt sure Edmund had just drawn blood with a particularly sharp side tooth. He soon found himself rubbing backward against Reid's body, those rough hands still placed on his naked hips under his pajamas. The callouses on the taller man's palms scratched a bit against his overheated skin. Jackson was in complete sensory overload.

And then, suddenly, Reid seemed done. His mouth popped off of Jackson's neck obscenely and he admired his work, running two fingers across the fresh hickeys and eliciting a final gasp from Jackson in doing so. “That'll look so nice in the morning. Better wear a low-cut shirt tomorrow, lest anyone think you've lost your touch.”

“They know better,” Jackson growled.

“Aah, how foolish I am. I forgot how you love to be watched as if you were a show.”

Jackson blushed. Two could play at this. “You think I'm such a whore, Reid?” He placed his hands behind his back, between their bodies, and nodded over his own shoulder. “Prove it. Use me like one. And if I've been bad, by all means, lock me up, Officer.”

Reid shuddered deeply. The challenge was too obvious for any illusion of respectability to be left and he groaned, cursing the Yankee's lack of manners under his breath even as he crossed the room to his bag, abandoned on the window seat, to retrieve his police-issue handcuffs.

Shutting the lock mechanism with a click that echoed through the room, Edmund growled lowly as he watched Jackson's back flex as he tested the bonds. “You're such a feisty one. If only I had a cage for you here.”

Jackson scoffed. “As if that would keep me locked away for long. You're testing your luck with these.”

“You have quite a mouth on you. I wonder if it's as useful for things other than speaking?” Still standing behind Jackson, Reid placed two fingers against his full lips. “If you don't impress me, I'll just have to find something to gag you with. Open up.”

Homer finally did as he was told, wetting Edmund's fingers with a tongue expertly swirled around them. He seemed eager to avoid a gag, and the policeman rewarded his efforts by creeping the hand that had gone back to being under his pants around front, settling it in the thick curls above the root of Jackson's cock. Jackson moaned around him and tried to move his hips to gain more contact, but Edmund responded by forcing a third finger into his mouth and pressing his hand insistently flush against the flat skin of his groin. “You're mine for the using, remember? Stop worrying about yourself and focus on your work.” And then – oh, then he had a brilliant idea, one that if he were not so turned on he would have had trouble believing was his own and not the Captain's. “I'm going to take my hand away so you can acknowledge me. Am I understood?” He pulled his fingers away, and the Captain sighed at the loss.

“I asked you, Captain Jackson, if you understand that you are to be good and do as I say.”

Jackson sighed again, this time impatient. “Yes, of course.”

Reid grinned to himself. “Yes what?”

Jackson attempted to shoot him a glare over his shoulder. “What do you mean, 'yes what?'”

The officer turned his chin so he was faced away from him again. “I mean that you will address me with respect or I will find a way to punish you, Jackson,” he said softly, with audible affection. He had meant it to be harsher, but he supposed it was actually better this way. In any case, Jackson accepted and embraced the realisation. He was humiliated, but he felt his cock, still at the total mercy of his friend's hands what with his own bound strict behind him, strain further with the embarrassment. He looked at the floor.

“Yes, sir,” he said finally, and even as he heard himself say it he felt the air in the room change. He could tell that there was no going back now, and suddenly Jackson had an idea of his own. “Reid,” he said, forgetting, and then quickly corrected himself - “Sorry. Sir. If I might... there's a piece of cloth in my day bag, my dark handkerchief. If you like, Sir, you could use it to blind me. If it pleases you. Sir.”

Reid did very much like this, and his heart swelled hearing Jackson talk like this. “You're so pretty when you're humble and trying to please, Jackson, do you know that?” Jackson blushed scarlet. “So gorgeously delicate and prim. If only I had other things to outfit you with, some petticoats or something... you would be astounding in the contrast between your masculinity,” (he punctuated this by moving the V between his thumb and forefinger to rest fully against the base of Jackson's cock) “and some lacy girls' clothes.”

Jackson had never considered the possibility, but now, found the idea absolutely incredible. “Yes... Sir... would very much like that... Sir.”

“But for now, I don't think you've earned clothing at all. After all, all you've been doing is talking, even when I gave you specific orders to use your mouth for other things.” He yanked down Jackson's drawers, causing the other man to gasp as cool air surrounded his cock. “Now, I have your next work assignment ready for you. I trust you'll be able to stop talking long enough to manage it. Face me, and get back down on your knees, where you belong.”

Jackson kicked off his pants and turned, looking Reid in the eye for only a moment before ungracefully kneeling. He looked up at his taller coworker, who admired him from above, petting his hair and stroking his face before suddenly pulling back a little with the same hand to smack his cheek, enough to smart but not really hurt past the initial sting. Jackson turned away instinctively, facing the fireplace behind him as he recovered from the shock. “Jesus, Reid. What was that for?”

Edmund smiled affectionately, choosing to forgive the break in character. “I didn't hear acknowledgment of my order. And I thought you may enjoy it.”

He chose not to give him the satisfaction of either a confirmation or a denial, mostly because he had enjoyed it – it had surprised him, definitely, but he had enjoyed it immensely. As his cheek remained heated, he could feel the same sensation build further in his crotch, his balls tightening and pulling the root of his cock back even as it stood practically against his stomach.

Reid seemed to have moved on, though he momentarily faltered. “Although I like your suggestion of a blindfold, I'm not going to use it on you, because I want you to be able to take it all in, seeing as it is our first time... doing... this.” Jackson nodded. “Spread your legs and stop slouching. I expect proper posture from you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Edmund palmed the fabric covering his now fully-hard bulge. He stared at Jackson's mouth. “Yes... your mouth is so quick and so clever... I think you're going to do just fine making it useful to me.”

Jackson swallowed as Reid stepped out of his drawers, one leg at a time. His cock was beautiful, dark and long and with less hair surrounding it than Jackson's own. “Open that pretty mouth for me, little Yankee cockslut.” Reid's speech surprised even himself, but he watched Jackson's cock jump as he emphasized each lewd syllable, and decided he was alright with that.

Jackson got right to work, swirling his tongue around the head of Reid's cock as he had done with his fingertips earlier, and swallowing its entire length down to the back of his throat without so much as a grunt of exertion. “God. Your mouth is so... hot... tight... Jesus, Jackson, where did you learn to do this?” The American looked up at him with an extremely succinct look, one that clearly said “Do you really want me to pull off and answer that, you bastard?” and Edmund couldn't stop staring into his eyes. Watching his subordinate burrow his mouth to the hilt of his cock while looking up at him like that was far too much, and Edmund groaned and rocked his hips back and forth as Jackson dragged his wet tongue along the entire underside of his dick, dipping it hard against the impossibly sensitive head.

Jackson's own need was growing harder to contain, but he loved the feeling of being unable to touch himself, helplessly feeling the pre-ejaculate leak down his skin as he bobbed up and down on Reid's cockstand. He had forgotten what it could feel like to have his mouth full, or to be truly submissive – though he was always the more passive partner no matter the gender of his, it was harder to coax women to be assertive. Years of ladies had blurred together, but this – this was a singular experience. He decided that even if he had the opportunity to return to his life with Susan, he would make the occasional foray into men from now on. Er – against men.

He held Reid's gaze, light grey confidently meeting deep blue, and continually pulled his wrists against the cuffs, shifting his shoulders and reminding himself of his confinement. His cock ached and hadn't been touched once. Each time he moved particularly far down on Reid's cock, it bumped against Jackson's body and he moaned lowly around his partner, which he only seemed to appreciate. He felt pathetic, needy, starved for release, and still all he could seem to focus on was how good it felt to be used for the selfish pleasure of someone else, how good it felt to not be paid the attention he desperately wanted.

Reid hadn't even given his mouth a break, not so much as pulled all the way out of him for any amount of time. His soft palate was being tickled constantly by the flesh stuffing his mouth full, causing him each time to make more little humming noises, egging Reid on. Reid smelled like heavy musk and sweat and yesterday's cologne, and Jackson drank it in, reveling in the odor.

Reid's hips sputtered and he bucked more erratically, now, thrusting the entirety of his groin repeatedly against Jackson's face. His stubble scratched slightly at the smooth skin on the fronts of the taller man's thighs, and Reid's panting broke into loud moans as he gripped Jackson's hair and yanked him up and down at exactly the pace he chose. This control was so heady, coursing through him and feeding on itself as he worked Jackson to his full potential. In his mind, he was continually berating Jackson, calling him all sorts of nasty names, but all he could get out into the real world, or this massively surreal space he had once thought of as only his living-room, were multiple variations of “Ooooh, ahhh, ff-fuck. Fuck,” as Jackson's lips stretched around him.

He glanced down at Jackson's own throbbing need and found his footing once more. Gathering all the willpower he could muster, he forcefully pulled Jackson off of him by the dense hair at the crown of his head and shuddered with the effort, watching him gape at the loss of contact and stare at his cock as it left his reach. Jackson was really beautiful, Reid mused, absorbing his lips, slightly swollen and reddened to match his cheeks, beads of sweat resting on the wispy stray hairs above his wild eyebrows. 

“You're such a treat to look at like this,” He breathed. “All used up. Pining for me.” He pulled Jackson's chin up with his index finger to look him straight in the eye. “I bet you're really starting to feel that cock of yours bother you, aren't you? Must be so frustrating not to be able to even touch it. You poor thing. So hard, just from sucking me off. I told you you were just a cockslut.” Jackson licked his lips in response, tasting the potent salt of skin and precum on them. “Say it. Tell me what you are.”

“I'm a cockslut.” Jackson would have sounded almost comical in any other context. He lilted the words as if they were any other, as if he were asking where the toilets were, that uniquely-Jackson always-exasperated American speech. The fact that he managed to retain his personality in the face of such adversity was admirable, at the very least.

“Such a naughty thing you are. And all mine to do with as I please.” Reid knelt down in front of him and trailed a large hand slowly down his chest, past his ribs, taking care to trace each scar, and finally to his lower stomach, were a dark patch of tiny curls led to the larger burst of pubic hair that filled the space above his shaft. He tugged at a small handful of hair there, and Jackson groaned. He watched his eyes roll back in his head, coming back absolutely glazed over with lust. “You really do get off on a little bit of pain, don't you?” Edmund whispered at him, the quietness unconscious. It was simply all the noise he could muster with all the admiration stirring in each fiber of him. He thought nobody in the world could have been as beautiful as Jackson in that very moment, with his hands bound and his legs spread and his cock hard for him and his face and chest flushed. 

It wasn't a question that needed an answer, anyway, as such was self-evident. He tugged sharply again on the dark hair, a bit lower down, this time, and watched a moan spill from Jackson's throat. And then a return to the submissive speech Edmund had found so damn endearing earlier - “Please, Ed, fucking... let me 'ave it. Please. I want it. Please.”

Reid stood, helping to pull Jackson up by his shoulders. “What is it you want? You're not being very specific.” He tossed Jackson haphazardly forward over the arm of the sofa, so his bottom stuck straight up into the air and his face was in the cushion.

“Mmph. I want to... I need you. I want you... to...”

“You're not very good at begging. I hear you telling.”

Jackson groaned, frustrated, and lifted his neck to shake the drenched locks of hair that had fallen in his face out of the way.

The fire was now out and they were in near total darkness, the only light in the house being a candle burning on the entryway table in the hall. This cut ribbons of illumination across each of them as the candle flickered – for Reid, highlighted were a stripe of Jackson's pale backside, the freckles on his upper back, and the crown of his head when he was turned round, his face in the pillow. For Jackson, when looking back, he could see only silhouette except for Reid's wide chest and broad shoulders, and his hand, pumping his cock leisurely.

Jackson was lost in reverie, as he had discovered the newfound friction available to him, and was working his cock as best he could against the chairarm with no leverage. His shaft was pinned under him, between his belly and the padded upholstery, and he took advantage of the situation, frantically thrusting again and again, his tiptoes unable to gain much footing on the ground behind him.

“You look pathetic,” Reid admonished. “Humping the closest thing like a little boy... instead of asking for what you want. But if you don't know what you want,” Reid came closer to him, “I guess I'll just take what I want.” With that, he pulled Jackson back to standing, dizzying him, and then turned him round before pushing him back down over the sofa arm, this time on his back. His legs draped over the edge naturally and his arms were even more pinned now. No doubt they were getting sore. Reid looked him up and down, heavy breathing raising and lowering his diaphragm rapidly, his member darkened and engorged and his eyes half-closed, struggling to get friction for his neglected cock against thin air.

He bent down over Jackson and shoved him forward to make room for himself on the sofa in front of him, leaning down to envelop him in a forceful, heady kiss. Reid felt his head spin rapidly as he tasted the sweet brandy on Jackson's tongue, fine grape flavours mixed with the slight cut of his own precum. He felt Jackson's whiskers scrape against his cheek, heard him moan and grunt as his body yearned, arching, for more contact. Reid's nostrils flared hot against Jackson's face as he focused on the frottage, staring each other down and sharing breaths as they rubbed against one another.

Reid's every sense was in overdrive. He could no longer take this – he wanted to be surrounded by heat again, taken by a body meant to conform to his need. Still gazing at him, but keeping a cautious eye on his reactions now, he placed each of Jackson's ankles on his own respective shoulders and tugged him flush against him, relishing the feeling of Jackson's arse just above his cock. Jackson moaned as Edmund reached out and finally touched him, stroking his cock lightly as if in awe of it, running fingers down the underside again and again. Jackson thrashed and shut his eyes tight, lips parted and bitten and moaning, incoherent. “You're a mess. I love watching you like this,” Reid told him quietly, removing his hand from Jackson's dick to spit in it and and coat his own with the saliva.

Jackson whined and bucked a little, but Reid gripped his ankles and pulled him flat against him again, and he relaxed, ignoring his erection again and contenting himself to stare at Reid. And then Reid spit on his fingers again, and brushed them against Jackson's entrance, dipping one in and crooking it as he reached the knuckle, and Jackson was done for.

“Fuck! Reid! Jesus!” Jackson couldn't go anywhere, could only accept the assault on his prostate as Reid added another thick finger, rubbing the pads of both across that little bud inside him. Jackson's dick laid against his stomach, and Reid stared at him predatorily as he fingered him increasingly roughly.

“You're gorgeous. Come apart for me like this... fuck.” He made little circles across Jackson's prostate with both fingertips, watching as Jackson's cock bobbed and his chest heaved. Jackson was really begging now, fulfilling Reid's earlier request: “Fuck me! For God's sake... Jesus. Fuck me. Please. I need you to...” He opened his eyes defiantly and stared at the older man, frustrated and only trying to get through the words. “I need you to fuck me. Right now. Right fuckin... right now, boss. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.” He punctuated this by rolling his hips, making himself yelp as the pressure on Reid's centre of focus was heightened.

Reid could do no more to protest. Jackson was absolutely beautiful as he entered him the first couple of inches, looking utterly lost, staring at the ceiling as he focused on adjusting to the thickness of Reid's cock. For his part, the DI took in visually each movement the surgeon's body made, and when he wrapped his legs around Reid's waist, he took it as an invitation to proceed, guiding his dick in further with a spit-in hand, palming Jackson's knackers as he went. Soon he was buried to the hilt and watched as Jackson's lips parted and closed silently, trying to mentally work through the situation completely. He couldn't process it, the dampened locks of hair that hung across Reid's forehead as he loomed above him, the expanse of Reid's chest, the candle offering to them its final flickering light, the sound of both of them struggling to breathe in the stifling humidity of the room. Reid, his boss, his roommate, his friend, appreciating him and touching him and using his body to meet Jackson's own, to fill the parts where he was empty, both literally and figuratively. It was all too much, and Jackson shot Reid a warning look, which the older man understood immediately – he backed off, removed his hand from Jackson's groin and placed it gingerly on his side, tracing Jackson's hipbone and stilled the movement of his lower body, waiting patiently for signal to continue.

In the end it was Jackson who began moving first, growing impatient and gyrating himself in circles as Reid indulged himself in the sight, astonished at the man's strength and leverage. He then moved himself, thrusting lightly at first, then more insistently as Jackson's tight channel accepted him more readily, pulling himself out and driving back home quicker and quicker. Jackson thought his aim uncanny. With each thrust, he hit precisely the spot that set his insides on fire, and Jackson, for all the lack of contact his cock had had this evening, could feel the familiar stir of orgasm in his belly. 

Reid's left hand was on his hip and his right was clasped around his shin, and Jackson watched the exertion with which he fucked him with no small degree of fascination, observing the micromovements his abdominal muscles made as he threw himself against his body over and over, his hips abruptly meeting his partner's plump buttocks, sending indecent slapping sounds through the dark house. “I'm gonna... I'mgonnafuckingcome, Reid. Don't stop. Don't you... don't you dare stop.” He looked Reid dead in the eye as he gave his orders. Reid dutifully continued, though straightened a little from his hunched position to better watch the span of Jackson's body as he threw his head back, arching away from the couch with his lower back as his cock spasmed and his relief unspurled, sending streams of hot white fluid over his own body, some even landing on his own cheek with his climax's force.

“Jesus,” Reid observed simply, driving harder still into Jackson as he gently took Jackson's length in hand and milked the last of his release from him, pulling back his foreskin to watch cum drip from the tip as Jackson's body quivered. Jackson's eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, and his body had grown even more receptive to Reid's girth post-orgasm, and Reid thrust into him one, two, three, four more times before he felt his own pleasure overtake him, pumping his own seed into his roommate as he leaned back and rode it out.

A moment passed in quiet as they both fought to regain a breathing pattern, Reid moving his hand up and down the shin where it had remained steadfast through their final act. Finally, Jackson began stirring as he realised just how sore his arms had become, and Reid, overcome by a pang of guilt, indulged in the sight of himself pulling out of Jackson for only a split second and then hurried to locate the handcuff key on the side table behind him. He sat Jackson up beside him, massaging his biceps as he released his wrists' bounds. Jackson sighed contentedly and rolled his shoulders back and forth a few times, all the tension in his body now gone, somewhere else in the universe, undoubtedly to track him down another day. But for now, it was night, and he lay his head back against Reid's couch and looked at him sideways, studying his features in the dark.

“You are incredible,” he told the Inspector, relishing the blush that was somehow still visible even in this darkest of rooms. “You were. You knew just what to do... had you ever been with a man before?” The thought had not even occurred to Jackson. He had no reason to assume either way.

“Yes. I was irresponsible once, before I got married and joined the police.” 

“Well, well, well, Edmund Reid, irresponsible. A trait I'd never have pegged you for, Inspector.” Jackson smirked, but it was more relaxed than usual, not as forced. Reid swatted his arm and traced the semen that had settled in the dip in Jackson's abdomen.

“It had been a while, though. And judging by the looks of things, it had been a while for you, too.”

“About two weeks before Susan threw me out, so... almost two months.” Jackson realised what he was insinuating and felt himself blush, too. “That obvious, huh?” he asked sheepishly, staring at Reid as he brought the fingers that had been swirled on Jackson's belly to his mouth and inserted them there, swallowing the artifacts of his release.

“Don't fret. I'm honoured.” He licked his lips as he offered his fingers to Jackson. “And I can only hope to be so honoured again,” he growled in the surgeon's ear. He moaned softly as the surgeon sucked on his fingers again. He did so like to watch those eyes as that mouth worked.

Jackson groaned, feeling his cock jump in spite of his exhaustion. “Sure, but I might really have to consider a role reversal, Edmund,” he retorted.

“My dear, I feel confident saying you may have whatever you wish from me.” Jackson's heart swelled. He was overcome with the urge to kiss the larger man, so he did, nibbling his lower lip as he fell atop him across the sofa, his eyelids heavy. Reid's hands tangled in Jackson's soft hair, content to let his lover direct. When Jackson pulled away for breath and rested himself nose-to-nose against Edmund's face, Reid suggested, “If you're sleepy, Captain, we should go and sleep.”

Jackson smiled, his eyes closing. “Yeah. I guess I'll see you in the morning.”

“Nonsense. Come upstairs with me. There's nobody to fill the other side of the bed, anyway, and nobody else I would rather do so at this point.”

Jackson's mouth gaped. He hadn't considered the intimacy of such a thing in a long while, of sleeping together versus... sleeping together. He had actually suspected it permanently lost to him, given his lifestyle as of late. A gambler, a drunk, a shitty husband, and proven a fool more than once – surely someone so blind as to betray the love of his life could not deserve another chance? And yet, here it was, beckoning him to join it in the bedroom. Catching up Reid in the hallway, he glanced back at his sofa one last time.

How intimate it was to be sharing barefooted nights with Edmund Reid.


End file.
